My Poem -Its about My Pain
This is my another poem about my pain I've been going through deeply, not just during the pandemic of COVID, but also my intense swntivie of rejection, body dysmorphia, and PMDD. Content Warning-Mental health stigma, anxiety, shame, guilt, trauma, premenstrual disorder, Body dysmorphia, rejection, pandemic, isolation, depression, trust issues, anxiety, loneliness, and fear of losing someone.
It's been 2 years already.
Or, was it 3 years(4 years already?)?
From lightness to darkness,
On and off,
It just couldn't stop.
It would never go away
I felt this with these deeper emotions and issues that wouldn't stop-
Disconnected,
Teased,
Mocked,
Judged,
Embarrassed,
Shamed,
Ditched,
Isolated,
Worried,
Betrayed,
Excluded,
Ghosted,
Blocked,
Stigmatized,
Divided,
Heartbroken,
Discontinued,
Drained,
Misunderstood,
Scared,
Denied,
Dismissed,
Traumatized,
Alienated,
and Discouraged.
It always been happened.
It did happen before -
Always...
Never forget how painful it is...
from 32 years-
to 25 years-
to 22 years-
to 16 years-
to 10 years-
to 8 years-
to 6 years.
For days, weeks, months, and years-
Everytime...
It wouldn't stop...
Not one bit...
It’s just like the never-ending story...
I wish they shouldn't denying my pain..
I wish they could understand me more...
All I want it is to be-
Heard,
Seen,
Connected,
Loved,
Comfort,
Restore,
and Empowered.
About the Creator
Meghan LeVaughn
I'm Meghan. I’m 36. I always love to be creative and using my imagination since I was a little girl. I like stories & love to share my inspirations, journeys, etc.
https://ko-fi.com/meghansdreamdesigns
www.instagram.com/meghansdreamdesigns
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Her Darkest Life
It was a strange day, a bit warm during the day, but too cold during the night. Not knowing what day it is, what time it is, or what the month is. The sky is white. The ground is gray. The land used to be beautiful, glorious, and playful to all people. Days or even months went by, it turned into nothing but an empty, drastic wasteland. The crops and harvest had turned into dried twigs. The buildings and houses were covered in vines, roots, ashes, and heavy dust from the dirt. The walls and doors were rusted. The windows had been shattered and covered with dust. The roads and trails had crumbled.
By Meghan LeVaughn 3 years ago in Poets
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